


Sonnets

by iwillpaintasongforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, Fanboy Harry, Light Bondage, M/M, Top Harry, Virgin Louis, Writer Louis, and uses it to absolutely rock Louis' world, basically harry has read everything Louis' ever written and knows his kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/iwillpaintasongforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uni student Louis Tomlinson is ao3 user 'zeeyum' and he happens to be famous in the One Direction fandom for his legendary kinky Ziam AUs. Harry Styles is zeeyum's biggest fan, as well as Louis' new partner on an English project, which-- oh. <i>Oh...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sonnets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larrysbitchx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrysbitchx/gifts).



> Howdy there prompter and all :) Considering that I almost fell out of my chair in excitement when I read this prompt, it is my absolute delight to have had the opportunity to write this for you. I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! xoxo

Louis hates group work.

Like not the kind of hate where you hate green beans and every time your grandmother makes them and heaps a pile on your plate you suppress a sigh. The kind of hate where when Louis looks at the syllabus for one of his lectures and sees that there’s groupwork, he grinds his teeth and legitimately considers whether this is _really_ the class that he wants to take.

Unfortunately though, this Shakespeare class is required for an English degree -something about needing to be well-rounded students or something awful and stupid like that- and there’s just no getting around it. He even checked around to see if there was another professor he could take it with who didn’t require this terrible partner project, but apparently it was university policy.

In other words, Louis is doomed.

It’s not that he isn’t a people person, because Louis _loves_ people. He’s an extrovert down to his toes and loves talking and partying and sharing ideas. It’s just that when it comes to school stuff, he trusts no one. Especially English. He’s a writer, see, so there’s a certain caliber of work that he can produce that not many other students can, and group work means either Louis picking up the slack for less qualified partners or his grade suffering.

This particular group project is off to an inauspicious start, because when the professor has put the randomly assigned pairs up on the screen and instructed them all to meet up with their partners and start discussing their project, everyone else mills about muttering names until they find who they're looking for and within two minutes Louis is the only unmatched person in the room. “Fantastic, I’m paired with a bloke that can’t even be arsed to show up on the first day of class,” he grumbles to himself, stepping over stray backpacks on his way to the podium. “Uh, excuse me, Professor?

The professor, a middle-aged woman with curly, reddish-brown hair and kind eyes, looks up from her note-taking to blink questioningly at Louis. “Yes?”

“My partner isn’t here, I think,” Louis answers. “My name is Louis Tomlinson?”

The woman turns around to peer at the screen, then nods. “Okay, no problem. I tell you what, let me look him up in my register and I’ll give you his email address, and you can shoot him an email and find a time to meet up and discuss your project. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah, sure. Thank you,” he tacks on as an afterthought, concealing his scowl only with a great amount of self control. Whoever this Harry Styles character was, he was on Louis’ shit list.

…………………

 **From: Louis Tomlinson (ltomlin021@kcl.ac.uk)**  
To: Harry Styles (hstyles024@kcl.ac.uk)  
Monday, 22 Sept 2014, 2:37 PM GMT

Harry,

I’m Louis Tomlinson, I’m your partner for our group project in Shakespeare. We were supposed to meet up at the end of class to talk about our project but I didn’t see you there. Is there sometime we can meet up to talk about it? Maybe sometime next week?

Thanks,

Louis Tomlinson

…………………

 **From: Harry Styles (hstyles024@kcl.ac.uk)**  
To: Louis Tomlinson (ltomlin021@kcl.ac.uk)  
Monday, 22 Sept 2014, 2:41 PM GMT

Louis,

Hey, sorry I missed class today! My car broke down on the way in. Absolutely, let’s meet. I’ve read through the syllabus a couple of times and I have some ideas about what we can do that I’d love to bounce off of you. Is there any way we can meet this afternoon/evening? I want to get ahead of the workload and really get going on this project. Let me know!

Harry

…………………

If Louis is surprised to hear his phone ding at him to announce a new email a mere four minutes after he sent his, he’s even more floored by the time he’s done reading it. Generally speaking people that missed first classes were not good communicators, and they certainly weren’t more prepared and anxious to get started than he was. He’d glanced through this syllabus once and all the thinking he’d done about this project was “well fuck.” Apparently tardy boy was even more anal than him.

How refreshing.

He types back a speedy reply- _I have study room 301 reserved til 7, you can stop by anytime_ -and returns to the far more important task at hand: his next masterpiece. He’s halfway through posting a Ziam soulmate AU that his fans are absolutely devouring, but the next chapter is two days past due because he can’t figure out how to fix the dialogue in the next scene. It doesn’t match up with the final chapter at all- Zayn is way too angsty now to be calm and collected four chapters from now when they find out they’re soulmates, and no matter how clogged his inbox gets with pleas for him to update, he categorically refuses to post anything that hasn’t been edited to perfection.

Abandoning his phone in favor of focusing, Louis clicks on the bookmark at the top of his browser that jets him straight to his AO3 inbox. 14 new comments since the last time he checked an hour ago, almost exclusively on _Bandages_ and all to the tune of “MORE PLEASE I BEG.” He clears them out and follows one of the links to the story itself, taking in the stats at the top of the fic and and shaking his head in the usual wonderment.

It’s been about six months now since he posted his AU _Icebergs_ and found himself suddenly famous in the fandom. Like, the obnoxious kind of famous where his inbox was overflowing every morning when he woke up because another few hundred people had fallen in love with his work. His friends claimed that he was getting a swollen head about it, but Louis knew better than that. He knew about the way that his stomach still fluttered in delight every time someone said how good of a writer he was, and how he would still bite his nails about a bit of dialogue even with tens of thousands of subscribers just waiting for more.

The fans are really what keep him going, though, what gives him the courage to keep fiddling with his work until it’s just perfect. He’s been writing fanfiction about One Direction- the world’s biggest boyband, made up of the three most attractive men to probably ever walk the planet- for almost a year now, and while at first he posted with great hesitance, ever since his influx of fame it’s been with a type of fervor he can’t explain. There’s something addicting about pouring your heart into something you’re creating and actually making people _feel_ things with it.

Plus, he got a lot of messages from people talking about how they got off on his smut, and in his mind being the source of many orgasms was sort of the pinnacle of Louis’ achievements. So.

A rap at the door to the study room startles Louis out of his reverie and he jumps about three feet out of his skin, taking the time to settle back in before calling out, “Come in!” _Jesus, this guy wasn’t kidding about getting started right away._

The door starts to swing open, a mop of dark brown curls entering the room first as the intruder struggled to hold onto the stack of books in his arms. “Hi, sorry, I dunno if you literally meant any time, but I was already in the library, so I just thought- I’m Harry.”

He dumps his books on the table with one final stumble and finally looks up, and Louis could quite frankly give a rat’s ass about any Shakespearean sonnet project right now. This boy has honestly got to be the most attractive person on campus, with bright green eyes and porcelain skin and puffy, pink lips that should either be outlawed or on Louis’ skin, he hasn’t decided yet. Either way he looks far too good to be standing here with his hand outstretched to Louis, a blush rising on his face as he takes the other boy in as well.

A few beats too late, Louis remembers how conversation is supposed to work and leans forward across the table to place his hand in Harry’s larger, softer one. “I’m Louis,” he says, which is very eloquent and composed considering his head is just a mantra of ‘shit’ and ‘fuck.’

At least Harry seems to be struggling just as much. “Do we know each other?” he blurts out, eyes searching Louis’ face. “You look familiar. I swear I’ve seen you before.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think we’ve met.” _I would remember meeting someone who looks like you._ “Maybe you’ve just seen me around campus or something?”

“No, I just moved to London two weeks ago, this is my first time on campus. I’m just so sure- sorry, I must be imagining things,” Harry finishes with a blush. “Anyways. Did, um, should we talk about the project?”

“Sure, sure,” Louis hurries to reply. “You said you have some ideas already? I’m impressed! Throw them at me, I’m all ears.”

Harry flushes again and grins, dropping into the chair across from Louis and digging through his stack of books as he starts to babble. “Well basically we have to each write a sonnet each week and then we switch off and peer edit and perform each other’s best work in front of the class, right? So I was thinking, we could like pick a theme each week, to write on, and then at the end we could collaborate one to perform together, maybe, cause that would be different. Or we could write antithetical ones, which would look cool in the portfolio we turn in, and-”

“Is that a One Direction notebook?” Louis blurts out delightedly, pointing to the composition book Harry is holding in his startled grasp. He almost feels bad for interrupting the flow of Harry’s admittedly brilliant ideas, but the images of Liam, Niall, and Zayn’s faces are like magnets for Louis’ well-trained eyes and he can’t help but comment.

“I- what? Oh. Yeah. Guilty indulgence I guess,” Harry laughs nervously, moving as if to hide the cover with his hand.

Louis just grins and lifts his phone from his lap to wiggle it at Harry, showing off the case. He can see the realization dawn in the sheepish boy’s eyes as he recognizes a collage of Zayn and Liam’s tattoos as well as a chipper quote from Niall about bandmates and brotherhood. “Nothing guilty about it, mate, or at least I’m as guilty as you are.” _Probably more guilty, since I’m the one writing hundreds of thousands of words of gay porn._

(Not that Harry needed to know that. He was far too cute to know that.)

“Small world,” Harry simply grins.

“Yeah, I suppose it is. Um- now what were you saying about the antithetical sonnets?” Louis shakes his head to clear it, trying to bite back his giddiness at finding another One Direction fan, especially a guy. They were here to do schoolwork, not to fangirl.

“Right. Um. Well we have to turn in both of our sonnet collections together, as one big collection, so I thought it would be cool if like, like if you wrote one about summer I could write one about winter, and then we could put them on opposite pages? I think that would be pretty above and beyond so we’d get a really good grade. You know?” Harry is babbling again, and the way his jaw snaps shut at the end says he knows it, too.

Louis smirks, but nods like he isn’t amused by the rant. “That’d be sick. We should pick subtle things though, rather than the typical day and night kind of stuff. Like a sonnet about the sea and one about the land, you know? Still opposites, but more subtle. Actually, I have this cool writing resource that randomly generates opposites, like for themes- here, come around this side and I’ll show you.”

He grabs his backpack from the seat next to him and drops it on the floor, clearing the way for Harry to move into the seat beside him instead. Harry settles in, smelling like cinnamon and honey, and Louis tries not to get distracted as he angles the screen more towards Harry and flicks through his bookmarked writing pages to find the one he’s after. He’s scanning the folder for the third time and praying he remembered to save the site when Harry breathes in a sharp little gasp.

“Is that _Bandages?”_ he asks with a laugh, smile wide as he takes in the words on Louis’ open AO3 tab. “I can’t believe you read fic, too, I thought real-life people who read One Direction fic were just myths or something!”

“Oh, I’m a big fan of fic,” Louis answers a little slyly, a bubble of excitement rising in his chest. Maybe Harry _does_ understand his particular level of obsession with the band and all things relating to it. “Have you read _Bandages,_ then?”

Harry doesn’t notice the sneaky little smirk on Louis’ face, instead propping his chin on one hand and staring at the screen with a wistful sigh. “What there is of it, anyways. It’s so bloody _good,_ I wish it would go on forever. I check my email every day waiting for a subscription alert.”

There’s a god out there, Louis is now fairly certain, and apparently he or she is a nice one so he pushes his luck a little more. “What do you think of this particular brand of soulmate fic? Kind of different, huh?”

“That’s exactly what’s so brilliant about it,” Harry gushes enthusiastically, eyes bright. “Soulmate fic has been done a million times but never quite like this, you know? And like you know where the plot is going but I have no idea how it’s going to get there and I just want to _know_ already!”

Louis’ grin has just been widening with every word, and by the end of Harry’s little speech he feels like his face is about to split. He tries to suppress it, though, nods sagely and hums his agreement as he opens a new tab. “Waiting for updates is hard,” he says, clicking into his Google Drive and rooting around a bit in his woefully disorganized folders, finally finding the file he’s looking for and leaning back in his chair with an insufferably smug smile. “You must be on the edge of your seat.”

It takes Harry a few beats to figure it out, but when the title of “Bandages Chapter Nine” sinks in, his eyes go wide. “But chapter nine isn’t posted yet, I just checked twenty minutes ago,” he protests. “You can’t have that yet.”

“Of course I have it, Harry,” Louis answers smoothly. “Can’t well post the next chapter of my fic if I don’t keep a copy for myself.”

“You’re Zeeyum?” Harry says in a voice that’s an octave and a half higher than his last sentence. “Holy _shit,_ that’s why you look so familiar, I’ve seen the selfies you post on your tumblr!”

Louis can’t help himself, he giggles. “You follow my blog? You must really be a fan, then, it’s just a Zayn thirst blog half the time.”

“Of course I follow your blog, you’re brilliant,” Harry cuts in. “I’ve read everything you’ve written, even all of your old stuff. You’re a fantastic writer, did you know that? Of course you know that, you’re famous, you’re- oh my _god,_ I can’t believe you’re Zeeyum.”

“Stop, you’re making me blush,” Louis laughs. “What are the odds that of all the people I could get paired with, it would be one of the few people who I can actually talk to about my writing? Normally I have to just say I’m an LGBT novelist and leave it at that to save face.”

“You can talk to me about your writing all you want, as long as you don’t mind a million questions. Mostly about how _Bandages_ is going to turn out,” Harry fervently says. “Liam isn’t going to get mad, is he? When he finds out? Because Zayn didn’t tell him this whole time? I’m so worried, because Liam’s always talking about denying fate, so what if he still wants to deny it just on principle even when he knows the truth-”

“I’ll let you have the draft if you take me out to dinner,” Louis blurts long before his brain catches up with his mouth and _motherfucking piss he just said that didn’t he?_

A large part of Louis expects Harry to get awkward and decline, because honestly, a gorgeous, local boy who likes One Direction enough to read fic about them, and apparently is Louis’ biggest fan? That was already too good to be true, and to expect him to be interested in taking Louis out would just be ridiculous. Real life was little like fanfiction, after all.

But Harry just starts blushing again and bites his lip. “I get special privileges _and_ I get to take you on a date? Pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

So Louis lets a smile slide across his own face. “If you read it right now and tell me what you think, I’ll even let you buy me flowers.”

…………………

Louis fully intends going into this date -which is scheduled for the very next night, so eager are they both to see each other again- that he’s going to stay for dessert. Dessert is the most important meal of the day, after all, and besides, he’s going to milk as much time as possible out of this starry-eyed wonder in front of him before he has to go back to his mundane flat and live a mundane life. He figures staying for dessert would maximize his Harry time, but those plans are foiled when they accidentally talk for hours on end without noticing time passing and wind up getting politely booted out by the manager when it’s time for the restaurant to close.

“I guess that we had a lot to talk about,” Louis laughs as they walk out into the pleasant evening air. “Not surprised, though. We’re pretty much the same person. English majors, Ziam shippers, green bean haters… we line up on all the things that matter.”

“Are you sure you’re two years older than me? I think we might be twins.”

“Unfortunately, I’m pretty positive. Or maybe fortunately,” he tacks on thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to do certain things with your twin. Certain things I might want to do with you.”

Harry halts his lazy amble down the sidewalk and turns to Louis with a smirk. “Certain things? Like what?”

“Well for starters,” Louis breathes, taking a step closer, “I’d like for you to kiss me.”

There’s only half a second’s pause before Harry leans in to close the gap between their mouths, lips plump and soft and moving tenderly against Louis’ own. “Just for starters?”

Louis misses the contact before the question is done. “Kiss me again.”

So Harry leans back in, smile making his kisses a little tighter for a moment as he searches for a rhythm for their kisses. But then Louis catches Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth and runs his tongue along it, gently, a quiet invitation that Harry quickly accepts when he parts his lips and kisses Louis deeper. Louis’ sigh is one of satisfaction, feeling Harry start to lean into him until one of those big hands slides up to cup his jaw and hold him there. Like Louis would ever want to back away.

He doesn’t, not even when the kisses turn more intimate than what’s perhaps appropriate for a public sidewalk. He lets Harry explore his mouth with his tongue, leaning into it and shivering at the way his dick is starting to get interested in what his lips are doing. He’s starting to get hard, blood rushing to the growing tent in his pants as he feels their lips sliding wetly over one another. Louis’ arms have wound up around Harry’s neck and Harry’s holding onto his waist, and it takes all of Louis’ meager self-control not to press their bodies together.

Suddenly Harry pulls back, swiping a hand over his eyes with a few unsteady breaths. “You’re driving me crazy. You know that?”

“It’s mutual,” Louis huffs with a laugh.

“If this were a fic, one of us would remember that we both ought to go home, and I’d give you a sheepish goodnight kiss and sweat it out for the next three days waiting for you to call me.” Harry swallows, hard, his smile hesitant and more than a little dazed.

“I’m not much for traditional fic, though,” Louis muses very quietly, “and if you’re a fan of me then neither are you. Things would go very differently if this were _my_ fic.”

“Oh- oh yeah? And how would it go if this were your fic?”

“Well I guess it would depend on the characters,” Louis mumbles, “but probably you’d take me home and we’d fuck the way we both want to.

Harry isn’t expecting that, not in the slightest. His eyes fly wide open and a startled little noise falls from his lips, the shock on his face just intense enough to scare Louis into believing he’d misread the situation before he notices that the green of Harry’s eyes has suddenly been swallowed up by wide-blown pupils. “And what if I’m not that kind of boy?” he asks hoarsely after a few beats.

Louis gulps. “I’m not above begging.”

“I’m a sucker for begging.” Harry leans in once more and captures Louis’ mouth with his own, kisses laced with that much more enthusiasm now that they both know where they’re headed. There are a few more whispered exchanges _-You sure? God, yeah. Your place or mine? Mine, it’s closer, I can’t wait-_ and then they’re climbing into Harry’s car and he’s following Louis’ directions out of the parking lot and back to the complex where he’d picked Louis up all those hours before.

They don’t even make sure the elevator doors are closed before they’re attached at the lips once more, kisses getting only more fevered as gentle caresses of tongues and lips turn into bites and swallowed whimpers. “This elevator is too slow,” Harry takes the time to gripe as he slips a hand into the back pocket of Louis’ jeans to pull him closer so they can rub their half-hard bulges together during the sluggish ascent.

Normally Louis would be complaining too, but he can’t bring himself to be irritated at a slow journey when it’s spent with Harry’s hands all warm and wanting on his body. In fact it’s over all too, soon, a falsely cheerful ding announcing that they have to pull apart once more and act decent as they hurry down the hall to Louis’ door. There’s a tremble in Louis’ hands that he refuses to acknowledge as he fumbles to unlock the door, drops his keys, and fumbles some more. Harry’s more than happy to capitalize on the nerves, though, pressing his hips into Louis’ side as a reminder and leaning down to whisper, “Hurry, Lou, I want to be touching you,” in a decidedly unhelpful manner.

Eventually he finds the necessary functioning brain cells to open the door, and Harry thinks to close the door behind them and even throw the deadbolt before he backs Louis into the nearest wall. He isn’t even pushing Louis up against the surface with that much force, but Louis still feels like there’s some sort of enormous pressure going on over every square inch of his skin. Physically the only place they’re making contact is at the lips and at the place where Harry’s knee keeps bumping into Louis’ thigh when he’s busy concentrating on licking deeper into Louis’ mouth. But Louis feels it all over him, feels Harry all over him like his nerve endings have a specialized memory just for recalling such beautiful touches. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Maybe he just wants Harry to touch him all over and _that’s_ where the pressure is coming from, this sudden and overwhelming need.

“Fuck, Harry, quit teasing and get your hands on me, will you?” Louis pants, pulling his mouth away during one of the millisecond pauses in Harry’s enthusiasm to give himself the opportunity to breathe and make demands. “There’s really no excuse for it.”

“You love teasing, and that’s excuse enough right there,” Harry murmurs back, moving one hand from the wall to Louis’ side, stroking up and down from ribcage to hip with tantalizing slowness and never once slipping around the front to give friction to Louis’ now half-hard cock.

“Yes, because in your thirty-six hours of knowing me you’ve learned all about what I like and don’t like,” scoffs Louis. “Shouldn’t you be going based off of what I say I want instead of what you think I want?”

“I think you’re harder now than you were five minutes ago when I was grinding up on you in that elevator.” Harry makes a grab for Louis’ crotch and gives it a squeeze, grinning at the half-moan, half-laugh of an exhale Louis gives in response. “I think my theory about writers is right.”

Louis winds his arms around Harry’s neck and rolls his hips forward into Harry’s hand. “And what theory is that?” he asks, mostly just to keep Harry talking. Maybe if Louis kept him distracted, Harry would keep squeezing his dick like that.

“Well, I think that when people write kinky fic, it’s because they like what they write,” Harry explains with a nip to Louis’ bottom lip, now swollen and pink. “That’s why some people can’t write certain kinks, because they don’t find it appealing. But if you write the same kink over and over again, it’s because you like it.”

“What are you saying, Harry?”

“I’m saying…” Harry moves his hand back to the disappointing safety of Louis’ waist. “I’m saying that I’m pretty sure that you’re a kinky guy, if the things you write are any indication.

“What, have you done a case study on my kinks through my works or something? That’s a bit odd, Harry, don’t you think?” There is absolutely no way that Louis can feel his pulse throbbing between his thighs from how hard he is, because getting that hard over the idea of Harry pondering his kinks would just be strange. Absolutely not.

“Maybe,” Harry smirks. “It’s not too difficult. Almost everything you write involves someone getting pinned down and mercilessly teased and fucked til they’re spent. Can’t be coincidence, can it?”

“Get me in a bed and find out.”

It one of those things Louis sometimes found himself saying in a moment of insanity, but he couldn’t find it in him to want to take it back when Harry’s eyes lit up and how this time when their mouths meet, their hips do, too. Harry is hard as a rock, grinding up against Louis and trying to get friction for both of their cocks through the denim of two pairs of jeans. “Can’t decide what I want to do with you first, though. Should I get on my knees like Niall in _Icebergs_? Or maybe I could try to make you come just from kisses like Liam in _Reckless_ -”

“What’s got you so dead set on reenacting one of my scenes?” Louis chokes out, firmly refusing to let those familiar scenes rise up in his mind and have him finished before he’s even got Harry’s clothes off.

“You write incredible sex,” Harry simply replies. “I wanna have incredible sex with you.”

Louis’ head spins, actually makes him physically dizzy, from the sight of this gorgeous and unabashedly eager boy grinding against him and talking like the most innocent little devil he’s ever met. He has to swallow several times before his voice works. “I tell you what, how about you toss me on that bed and do whatever you want to me, and I’ll have it posted in fic form by dinnertime tomorrow, is that a deal?”

The motion of Harry’s hips stops just as suddenly as it began, much to Louis’ dismay, but Harry’s eyes when he pulls back are bright with interest. “That answers that question, then.”

“What question?”

“Well I know what your kinks are, thanks to your writing, but there was still one important bit that I couldn’t figure out.” Harry reaches up and buries his fingers in Louis’ hair. “The real question was whether you like to tie boys to the bed and fuck them, or whether you’re the one who wants to be tied up and fucked.”

It’s hard to talk when Louis’ mouth is suddenly dry as a desert. “And what’s your conclusion?”

Harry doesn’t answer, just curls his fingers where they’re tangled in Louis’ hair and pulls, hard, making him cry out as his head is pulled back and his scalp aches. He can feel the precome smearing around the tip of his cock where it’s still torturously trapped in his pants. Harry can’t know that, can’t possibly understand the effect it has on him, but the smirk on his face says he does. “Do you want me to manhandle you, Louis?”

“I want you to stop fucking around put your mouth on my cock before I combust.” It’s meant to be a demand but somehow the words come out like a plea, which is alright either way. It still makes Harry back off a bit, makes him tug them both further into the room. Louis starts tripping to the bed at once, but Harry grabs him around the waist before he gets there and turns him to face the desk, a gentle push between his shoulderblades sending him toppling forward to bend over the surface until his face his face is resting on the glossy finish.

“You would probably like this, wouldn’t you?” Harry asks in that cherubic tone, running his fingertips up and down Louis’ spine. “You write about table-fucking a lot. I could do that, you know, if you wanted.”

Louis wants. Of course he wants, he’s got a wet cock from how much he wants, he’s got hands that curl into fists and a body that pushes back into Harry from how much he wants. “If you’re trying to get me worked up then mission accomplished. But if you’re going to do something about it then _do something_ about it, or else I’ll go into the bathroom and do it myself.”

The threat works, and Louis’ spun around and his lips caught back up in Harry’s in the space of a breath. “No, no, no, don’t,” Harry begs, walking Louis towards the bed and working at the button of his jeans as they go. “Let me get you off, please? Fuck. I was just teasing, I don’t want you to take care of it yourself.”

The backs of Louis’ thighs meet the edge of his bed and he looks up at Harry quite seriously. “So take care of me.”

And then he’s being tipped backwards until he’s lying on the mattress with Harry on top of him, pushing his jeans down his thighs and nudging at Louis’ shirt until Louis tugs it free and his torso is exposed. Harry ducks his head down and kisses all over the smooth skin, running his tongue lightly over the place where the curve of his little tummy starts to swell out, nipping a little at his hipbones. Louis brings his knees up on either side of Harry so he can finish pushing his jeans off and tosses them to the floor along with his socks and shoes with a satisfied hum,  watching Harry’s lips get closer and closer to the waistband of his boxers.

“You look like you have a fantastic mouth,” he blurts out a little hazily, stomach fluttering as Harry nuzzles at the wet spot on his boxers.

“You look like you have a fantastic cock.”

Louis opens and shuts his mouth a few times, searching for some sort of comment, until Harry pulls out a cheeky, dimpled grin and starts sliding down Louis’ boxers, enveloping every inch of his cock as it’s exposed by the receding fabric. A soft _nngh_ escapes Louis’ mouth as he  feels the tip nudge the roof of Harry’s mouth and his legs twitch like he wants to wrap his thighs around Harry’s head and hold him there. He doesn’t, though, because then there would be no room for Harry to work his hand in and massage his fingers teasingly at the base of Louis’ cock where it fails to disappear behind his lips.

There’s a soft, cool pillow somewhere in the general vicinity of Louis’ head but he isn’t sure whether he wants to lie back on it and close his eyes or smother himself so his embarrassing little mewls of pleasure won’t be quite so loud. Neither, he decides when the blur leaves his eyes a bit and he catches sight of the way Harry looks bobbing on and off of his length. He’s got his eyes closed, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones and lips a sinfully dark shade of pink from the constant slide. There’s a little furrow in his brow from concentration like he’s focused his full attention on the task at hand and he looks so bloody gorgeous that it would be a sin to do anything other than stare.

It’s impossible to keep his eyes from slamming shut with his moan, though, as Harry hollows out his cheeks and drags the heavy suction up the length of Louis’ cock until the tip springs free of his lips with a _pop._ “Do you want to come, or do you want to- erm, do something else?”

“Both,” answers Louis, his voice as breathy as Harry’s is rough. “I want more. But, um, I’ve got about thirty seconds of stamina left in me.”

The answer seems to delight Harry, and he smiles widely as he leans his cheek against the inside of Louis’ thigh. The fingertips of one hand dance up and down his slickening cock, sometimes rough and sometimes all too gentle. “D’you think I could make you come like this? Just barely touching you?”

They both know the answer, because Louis is steady leaking like he’s being milked and his thigh is trembling against Harry’s skin, but there’s the feel of breath between Louis’ thighs making him grit his teeth and fingertips just aren’t enough. “Your mouth. Your hand. Something. Please.”

“Are you sure? Could be fun, to see just how long I can stretch your thirty seconds out-”

In a flurry of sexual frustration Louis reaches down to take himself in hand and put an end to the dizzying want in his head, but before he can get there his hand is being gently pressed down into the mattress and he’s once again being taken in by Harry’s mouth. This time there’s no more teasing, just Harry trying to nudge farther down Louis’ length until the tip is wrapped in the fluttering muscles of his throat and Louis is coming with a markedly unsexy howl and a lack of forewarning that’s equal parts rude and completely understandable.

Harry doesn’t seem bothered by the unannounced end, gagging a little but swallowing with determination before easing his way off. His voice is definitely rough now. “Why do you keep threatening to do it yourself?”

“Because it keeps working, apparently,” Louis fires back. “Don’t think I’m bluffing, though. If you’re not going to take care of me, I will. My hand gets the job done just fine.”

“Not every job, though.” Harry crawls up Louis’ torso and presses the outline of his hard cock against Louis’ soft one, gently so as not to hurt him but hard enough that Louis gets the idea of all the things he can do that fingers and palms cannot. He plants a kiss on the corner of Louis’ mouth. “And anyways, I told you I’d take care of you.”

Louis smiles against Harry’s lips. “Just offering some guidance. Can’t expect you to know how close you can get me to orgasm before you’d better give it to me or risk getting your pretty curls yanked out. Not yet, anyways. You need a sample size of at least ten, so like, by next week I’ll expect expertise.”

“That seems reasonable.” Harry appears to actually be mulling it over, dropping absentminded kisses to Louis’ mouth as he thinks. “If it means getting you off nine more times this week I’ll accept your tutelage. You look really hot when you come,” he tacks on by way of explanation.

It’s completely out of Louis’ control when his thighs fall apart a little more like an invitation. Harry takes note and swallows, hard. “How do you want me, then?”

Louis’ heart pounds in his chest but his hands are steady as he reaches up and tugs the scarf from Harrys curls, pressing it into Harry’s hand and bringing his arms up to cross his wrists above his head. “I thought you already knew what I wanted, genius boy. Thought it was obvious I want to be tied up and fucked.”

There’s a visible shudder that runs through Harry. He bites his lip once before nodding, shifting his weight around so he can take Louis’ wrists in his hands. His thumb brushes over the pulse point once and then cotton is being wound firmly around Louis’ hands, trussing them together. At the last minute Harry adds another loop, coiling fabric around one of the bars on Louis’ wrought-iron headboard so that they’re both bound together and held above his head.

Louis feels at once incredibly vulnerable, all laid out like this with his thighs wide and arms beyond his control, naked from head to toe. It isn’t the kind of vulnerability that makes him want to change his mind, though. It’s the kind of vulnerable that, in the presence of someone so clearly good and so willing to take him apart, has Louis’ blood racing. He has a shallow sort of tremble all over, anticipation mixed with the arousal that’s growing once more just from the bite of his bindings and the sight of Harry dragging his eyes up and down Louis. It’s intoxicating.

“You’re so pretty,” Harry breathes with a hint of reverence, rocking back to sit on his heels for a better view. One hand snakes down to rub across his clothed crotch, and there are actual miniature moans fighting their way out of his flushed lips whenever his palm makes the friction just right. “Look at you,” he mumbles, quiet enough that Louis knows this message isn’t really meant for him at all. “Unbelievably gorgeous, and all tied up and waiting for me.”

“Don’t make me wait too long, I’ve already been twenty years waiting for this,” Louis snorts, squirming a little to remind Harry that he is permitted to both look _and_ touch.

But instead Harry just laughs. “What, you’ve been waiting for me all your life? I bet you say that to all your lovers.”

“Alright, Narcissus, calm down,” Louis retorts with a roll of his eyes. “I haven’t been waiting for _you,_ but generally speaking I have been waiting twenty years to get fucked, yes.”

What starts as a glimmer of confusion grows into a full, furrowed brow and Harry’s hand stops moving where he’s been stroking himself. “What do you mean you’ve been- you mean you haven’t-? Do you like, usually top?”

“I mean I’m a virgin,” replies Louis with an embarrassed blush. “I’ve had like blow jobs and hand jobs and stuff, but never anything beyond that.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m hoping that’s where this is headed, yes.”

“No, I mean- you can’t be a virgin,” Harry says, dumbfounded. “First of all, you can’t honestly tell me you walk around looking like that and don’t have men tripping over themselves for you. And second of all- Louis, your _smut.”_

“I have an active imagination and several porn site subscriptions, okay, I educate myself.” Louis wiggles his hips again. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, no, I’m just- I’m so surprised, that’s all.” Harry reaches down to tug gently at Louis’ balls as he continues to process this new information, which is generally alright with Louis. Harry gets time to get over his shock and Louis gets little zings of pleasure to harden him up again. “You know that scene with Zayn and Liam in the life boat? I’ve wanked to that _four times,_ Louis. I practically have it memorized. I just assumed you were a sex god.”

“Might be anyways, you’ll have to find out,” Louis groans, tilting his hips up into Harry’s hand.

For once Harry gets the hint without any threats attached, and he leans forward to kiss Louis softly as his fingers trace back up towards Louis’ tip. “You’re sure? We don’t have to-”

“Positive,” Louis answers at once. “I’m positive.”

And then Harry is gone, pulling back and climbing off the bed, which Louis almost protests until he understands it’s so Harry can shed his clothes. From then on out Louis is distracted by the slow reveal of Harry’s body, which is unfairly cut. He’s tan and lanky, muscles bulging but covered in just enough flesh to make him seem incredibly soft and kissable. Louis wants to know what his skin tastes like on every square inch of his body.

“Do you have, like, supplies and stuff?” Harry asks as he removes his second boot, hand fisting his cock roughly in preparation.

“What kind of supplies, Harry? School supplies? Camping supplies? Be specif-”

“You’re a right pain in the arse, I hope you know that,” Harry interrupts with a roll of his eyes, but leans in to kiss Louis anyways. “Do you have lube so that I can open you up, and do you have a condom so that I can fuck you until you see stars? Since you’re so big on specificity.”

The backs of Harry’s knuckles are brushing against Louis’ side as he continues to work his cock, and Louis has to take a deep breath before he can sass back. “Of course I have _those_ kinds of supplies, Harry, I’m not an animal. Top drawer, with the toys.”

Harry pulls the drawer open and glances back at Louis with eyebrows raised. “Your toy drawer is very well stocked, isn’t it?”

“Mm. For research purposes, of course. Remember that scene in _Reckless_ where-”

Apparently Harry _does_ remember, because he almost slams his finger in the drawer in his rush to climb back onto the bed between Louis’ thighs with a condom and the bottle of lube. “Stop trying to distract me, Louis,” he breathes, leaning forward to suck on a spot just below the curve of Louis’ jaw. “You make me want to do all kinds of things at once and I can’t focus.”

“I’m not trying to distract you at all,” Louis returns with a laugh that’s half-teary. “Christ, I’ve been begging you to move this along faster since we walked in the door. If I were trying to distract you I’d play hard to get, but I just want you to-”

That’s when Harry starts pressing one slick fingertip past Louis’ entrance, and everything gets a little fuzzy after that.

Louis’ had toys inside of him before, and fingers of course, but never someone else’s. Now they’re Harry’s fingers, so long and warm and gentle in the way they ease him open. They’re angelic fingers, Louis finds himself thinking, except for those few brief moments in which Harry will apply pressure just off to the side of his prostate and refuse to give him what he really wants. Every time Harry avoids the spot Louis can feel himself getting harder, and he hopes desperately Harry doesn’t notice lest he think to make this a habit.

(As soon as he thinks it, Louis knows that’s a lie. He hopes to spend a lot of time in the future on his back with Harry teasing at his prostate. Harry doesn’t have to know that, though.)

“Harry, Harry, I’m ready. C’mon, please?” Louis moans softly when the only ache he feels at Harry’s touch is needing more.

It’s a testament to how far behind in attention poor Harry is that he doesn’t even attempt to be coy. Instead he eases his fingers from Louis and wipes them haphazardly on the sheets so he can open the packet of the condom and roll it on before slotting himself between Louis’ thighs once more. The tip of his cock teases at Louis’ entrance for just a fraction of a moment before he pushes in.

It hurts a little at first, like Louis knew it would -he really is very well-educated on the topic. But he knows to breathe through it and relax, though, knows that if he lets himself focus on the tender touches Harry’s leaving all over his chest and his sides and the tops of his thighs then soon the grit of his teeth will give way to sighs and moans.

It happens sooner rather than later because Harry has his eyes closed as he works his hips in and out of Louis, brow knit together and eyes shut in bliss. Every so often he tries to open them again to look down at Louis, but inevitably it ends with them fluttering back to a close and him fucking just a little bit faster. Louis wants to reach up and touch his face, but there’s a delicious bite at his wrists reminding him that he isn’t in control, that he’s at Harry’s mercy when it comes to touches, and a whimper escapes his lips instead.

It’s that small sound that sends Harry reeling, holding Louis’ hips tight in each hand and groaning loudly as he thrusts in a few more times and comes, grinding deep inside Louis and hanging his head so his curls brush Louis’ collarbones. Louis feels his own cock twitch in desire, already so close to the edge from rough pressure and the sight of Harry. He swallows and wiggles, trying to push himself over the edge. “Harry, Hazza,” he pants, “touch me, please, I’m gonna come-”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice, prying one hand from Louis’ hip to fist his cock instead and whimpering when Louis comes for a second time and clenches around him. Louis laughs a little as he spills for the second time and makes a mess of his stomach, half from euphoria and half from disbelief that this is his actual real life. Harry just wraps his arms around Louis and squeezes like he might drift away.

They stay that way long enough that it’s uncomfortable when Harry pulls out, but neither of them seem to mind beyond a vague murmur of protest. Their lips find each other again, Harry exhaling in satisfaction as he works at the knot binding Louis’ wrists. “Thank you,” he says quietly as they’re freed, bringing one soft palm up to his cheek and holding it there as they let their lips slide together in an unhurried sort of way.

“Flannels beneath the bathroom sink, yeah?” Louis prompts after a while. He half expects Harry to laugh it off and tell him to get it himself, since it’s _his_ flat, after all. But of course that’s not what Harry tells him, of course Harry kisses him again and happily goes wandering off to find a flannel and returns to clean them both up.

“Said I’d take care of you,” Harry says like he knows exactly what Louis is thinking.

Louis just pulls him down and cuddles him in, both of them finding their way under the warmth of the duvet so they can tangle their limbs together. “Can’t believe I lost my virginity to a guy I met the day before,” he says with a smirk.

“Can’t believe you asked to be tied up by a guy you met the day before,” Harry laughs in answer.

“Did that for the same reason I decided I wanted to sleep with you.” Louis found Harry’s hair with one hand and combed through it gently. “I trust you.”

“That’s crazy. You know that, right? To trust me when you barely know me?”

“Probably,” Louis shrugs, never stilling his fingers. “But I’m good at reading people, they’re kind of my thing.” Harry doesn’t appear convinced, still frowning slightly with his eyes closed and cheek resting on Louis’ chest. “I’m serious. What’s my strongest asset as a writer?”

“Your bum,” Harry replies at once.

“As a _writer,_ Harry.”

“What? I assume you sit on it while you write, it counts.”

_“Harry.”_

“Alright, alright. Your smut, then. Your characters start kissing and I get hard ‘cause I already know what’s coming is going to be hot.”

The corner of Louis’ mouth twitches up in a smile that’s probably too lecherous for someone who’s literally _just_ come twice. “I’m not sure whether to be upset you need a third guess or flattered that you’re _this_ hot and I can get you horny with just my words. Not counting smut, though. Try again.”

Harry heaves a put-upon sigh and chews his lip, considering. “Characterization,” he says at last. “You write incredible characters.”

“There you go. _Characters,_ Harry. People. I can write people well because I know how to understand what people do and how they feel and who they are. That’s how I know I can trust you,” Louis continues a little tremulously. “I don’t mind letting you have control because I’d bet my apparently very admirable bum that you wouldn’t hurt me even if I gave you the chance to.”

Finally Harry lifts his head and opens his eyes, looking right at Louis in a dreamy sort of way that still makes Louis’ heart stutter with the intensity. “Never.”

They kiss until Harry’s eyes refuse to open and he falls asleep right there, curled half around Louis, faint drags of breath as steady and calming as the sound of the ocean. Louis isn’t quite lulled to sleep by it, though. He lies awake for a while after and gazes up at the ceiling, fingers still carding through Harry’s hair.

Louis isn’t stupid. Of all the many things he is, Louis has never been stupid, especially not when it comes to seeing the way that stories will end. This one, the one where he and Harry are wrapped up in a bubble of warmth in Louis’ messy flat, skin tacky with sweat but neither willing to let go, is only going to end one way- with this scene playing out over and over and over again, because there’s a little part of Louis’ mind telling him that this is the type of boy he could maybe fall in love with someday.

Maybe, Louis thinks as his eyelids finally close, he’ll do as he offered Harry and write tonight into a scene for the world to enjoy. But maybe he’ll give Harry an apology’s worth of kisses and just keep it to himself.

 


End file.
